Ardent Light
by lemonworld22
Summary: What if Harry wasn't so content to sit on the sidelines after Voldemort's return? This story will very loosely follow canon but will depart in significant areas. Darkish/powerfulish Harry. Will be firmly HP/HG eventually. This is my first fanfiction ever, but feel free to be brutal with the reviews if you hate it. T for now, may be M later.
1. Chapter 1

**_****Author's note: I don't own HP or the HP universe. JK Rowling does, and I am grateful to her for allowing me to play with the world she has so artfully crafted.****_**

 _Fudge stepped back from Snape too. He was shaking his head. He did not seem to have taken in a word Snape had said. He stared, apparently repelled by the ugly mark on Snape's arm, then looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry."_

 _He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the dormitory, and stopped at Harry's bed._

 _"Your winnings," he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto Harry's bedside table. "One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances…"_

 _He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The moment he had disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at the group around Harry's bed._

Dumbledore paused, taking a long breath, then spoke steadily. The argument with Fudge might not even have happened.

"There's work to be done. Molly, I know your family has a lot to lose, but am I right to think I can count on you and Arthur?"

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley said, still with a slightly alarmed look on her face from Fudge's obstinance. "We know Fudge. His style of playing favorites has never exactly endeared him to Arthur."

"Then I will need both of you," said Dumbledore. He looked at Bill. "And you as well, if you are willing."

"Definitely," said Bill without hesitation. "I can apply for a desk job at Gringotts if need be."

"Let's decide on that at a later date," said Dumbledore. "We will still need someone to bring in foreign assets. For now, I need you to speak to your father. We must immediately begin contacting those at the Ministry who might believe that Voldemort has returned, and Arthur is the best person we have to make that happen."

"Right," said Bill, rising from his chair and patting Harry on the arm. "I'll go now."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "He must be cautious. We don't want Fudge to know we are trying to undercut him within the Ministry."

Bill nodded and headed towards the exit. The hospital wing doors slammed shut as Dumbledore now turned his attention to Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy," he said, "as your patient seems to be in no immediate danger, could you please go down to Professor Moody's office? There will be a house elf in there named Winky. Can you take her back down to the kitchens? Dobby should be able to take care of her from there."

"Of…of course," she said. She turned and walked down the ward, glancing back over her shoulder as the doors shut for the second time.

Dumbledore waited for several seconds, then turned back to the group at large.

"Now," he said, quietly, "it is time for one of us to assume his real form again." He looked at Sirius, whose head bobbed. A second later, Sirius the man stood next to Harry's bed, his robes still tattered and his hair still matted in places. Mrs. Weasley shrieked. Sirius grinned.

"I don't look that ghastly, do I?" he asked with a soft barklike laugh.

"But…" said Mrs. Weasley, taking several steps back toward the window, "but…but…how?"

"Long story, Mum," said Ron. "Just go with it."

Snape, however, was looking positively livid with rage at the sight of Sirius.

"Him!" he shouted, pointing aggressively at Sirius's thin figure. "What is he doing here?"

"He is here at my invitation," said Dumbledore smoothly, "just as you are, Severus. But we will deal with that later. For now, there is still business to be completed."

Dumbledore waved his wand at the hospital wing door, and Harry heard it lock. Dumbledore waved his wand again, streaming what seemed to be thin trails of misty air out of the end, which surrounded the group within a circle of thin vapor.

"Protective enchantments," Dumbledore said. "We do not want to be overheard at the moment. Now." He looked around at them all. The other six faces in the room stared back at him, entranced.

"As of this moment, I am officially recalling the Order of the Phoenix," he said. There was a sudden flash of light, and a solitary phoenix feather fell gracefully from the ceiling, landing on the spotless floor of the hospital wing at the center of the group. "We will oppose Lord Voldemort at all costs. With luck, we will succeed. We have a much better chance this time around. Fudge's attitude will of course make things more complicated, but Lord Voldemort is still acting from a position of relative weakness, for the present at least. We must not allow him to secure a foothold."

With these last words, a force seemed to emanate from the elderly wizard. Every other face in the room stared, enraptured, at Dumbledore, seemingly unable to look away. The sense of power was awe-inspiring. Dumbledore continued, just as calmly as before.

"Voldemort must even now be beginning to gather his forces together. We must immediately do the same. Sirius, I need you to make the old rounds. Gather the old Order members we know we can rely on—Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, and the likes—and then hide out at Lupin's. I will have further instructions for you later. We will also need to begin gathering information. Severus, it has been nearly three hours since Lord Voldemort returned, and he is no doubt already rather cross with you for not appearing when he first regained his powers. If you are prepared, I need you to resume your role. Molly, I would like you to stay here with Harry for now. Just to be safe. I must go and meet with Arthur at once to begin coordinating our strategy for acquiring Ministry contacts."

The three of them all nodded. Snape, Sirius, and Dumbledore all began to move towards the door, but at the sound of Harry's voice, all three of them stopped.

"Hang on," he said. "What about me? What can I do?"

Everyone else stared dumbly at him. Harry flushed slightly.

"I mean, " he went on, trying to ignore the feeling that he had just turned a giant spotlight on and pointed it directly at himself, "there has to be something that I can do. Something to help the Order. I don't want to just sit in this hospital bed for the next week."

"Harry, don't be silly," Mrs. Weasley said, forcing an unconvincing smile onto her face. "You've been through a dreadful ordeal tonight. You need to take the rest of your dreamless sleep potion. You need rest. Let us take it from here."

Harry shook his head. "I already slept. I'm fine. I want to help. I can go with Sirius, I can help him." Harry didn't know why or how, but in spite of his fatigue, his soreness, the overwhelming desire to just let the world wash away that he had felt an hour ago was completely gone. In its place was a longing, a thirst for purpose.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," Snape hissed vehemently at him. "You are fourteen years old. Your magic is average at best, even for your own age group. Do you think this is a game? You know what the stakes are here. Everyone in this Order is ready to sacrifice our very lives in order to bring down the Dark Lord. Many of us will. And you have the gall to sit there and think that you have anything to offer the Order? You think you have any idea of the danger, of the magnitude of what is involved when taking such an oath? Such arrogance, Potter. Given how James used to walk around this castle like he owned the place, though, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised anymore."

Harry tried to ignore the slight about his father. He didn't even look at Snape when he spoke again, but rather at Dumbledore. "Professor, I know I'm not qualified and that I might not be of much use in a fight, but I proved three years ago, almost to this day, that I was ready to die if it meant stopping Voldemort. I've faced Tom Riddle four times now, and I've survived each time. I was the one in that graveyard tonight. I watched him come back. I watched Cedric—" Harry stopped for a second, collecting himself, This was important. "If it wasn't for me, none of you would know that Voldemort returned tonight. I want to join. I want to fight. Voldemort wanted me tonight—not Professor Dumbledore, not some Auror—he wanted me. He still does. I'm not going to sit on the sidelines. I want to join the Order, and, truth be told, I think the resume of what I've done stacks up pretty well with anyone else."

Harry didn't know where the confidence in his voice had suddenly come from. He had not meant to say all that so bluntly, but once he had started, it seemed to have all spilled out on its own. The room had gone very quiet. Snape was still shaking his head, muttering under his breath. Sirius and Dumbledore were both looking at Harry, but in a strange way, as if they were pondering him. Ron and Hermione looked simply staggered. Mrs. Weasley, however, looked almost frightened.

"You can't seriously be considering this, Albus?" she said, her voice rising. "This is absurd. He is _fourteen._ Fourteen! No matter what he's done, there's no ethical way you can allow someone so young to volunteer to risk their life like this!"

"You think Harry doesn't understand what's at stake here?" Sirius asked her, a sudden bite in his voice. "Of all the objections you could raise, you're going to say that Harry Potter, whose parents were murdered, who Voldemort has attempted to kill four times now, who witnessed Voldemort murder a fellow student of his in cold blood tonight—you don't think Harry, more than anyone, knows what it means to join the war against Voldemort?"

"Then how about the objection that we can't allow _teenagers_ to die for our cause? Are you out of your mind, Sirius? I think Azkaban must have unhinged you. For heaven's sake, even You-Know-Who isn't out recruiting teenagers to become Death Eaters!"

"That will do, Molly," Dumbledore said quietly. "Sirius is an innocent man. He is no more unhinged than you or I am." Mrs. Weasley began to speak again, outraged, but Dumbledore held up a finger to stop her. He walked to the foot of Harry's bed and stood over him.

"Do you wish to join the Order of the Phoenix, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"Yes," said Harry fiercely.

Dumbledore considered him for another moment, then said, "I am not going to ask you whether you know what is at stake. I believe that you, more than anyone else, do indeed know. However, there are a few things we must resolve before I even consider such an idea."

Harry waited. Snape and Mrs. Weasley were now both looking ludicrously at Dumbledore.

"If you join the Order," Dumbledore said, his voice now much firmer, "you are agreeing to follow my plan. My directives. This is my organization. Is that clear?"

"Of course," said Harry.

"Understand what I mean in full, Harry. You will not like some of the things I tell you to do. You may not wish to obey them. They will not be easy, nor will they be particularly enjoyable. But if you want to join the Order, you are trusting me to know what is best in order to stop Voldemort. For instance, if you join…you will begin extracurricular lessons with Professor Snape immediately, and they will carry over into the school year."

"What?" said Harry and Snape together.

Dumbledore quelled Snape with a look, then looked back down at Harry. "You have no doubt faced extraordinary things in your life so far, Harry, and I would be foolish to overlook that. If you want me to even consider allowing you into the Order, however, you will give me your word on this. Do not give it to me lightly, either. I am known for giving second chances, it is true, but in this case there will be no such generosity. This is war, and we cannot afford to second guess each other."

"What…what kind of extra lessons?" Harry asked nervously. "Do you mean more defensive magic, or—"

"I cannot tell you yet," Dumbledore said flatly. "Do I have your word, Harry?"

Harry looked at Dumbledore. Did he trust him? It was true that Dumbledore had never exactly led him astray by any means, and he knew without a doubt that Dumbledore's devotion to stopping Voldemort was second to only perhaps his own. Yet Dumbledore had withheld information from him in the past…and Harry still suspected that Dumbledore had manipulated many of the situations that had led him to face Voldemort so many times. As Harry thought about it more, though, he realized that Dumbledore had also given him the tools to survive in those situations. He had taught Harry how the Mirror of Erised worked, and it was Fawkes who had brought him the Sorting Hat, which had given him Gryffindor's sword.

"Yes," said Harry, meeting Dumbledore's eyes. Neither Harry nor Dumbledore blinked as several seconds passed.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, taking his eyes away from Harry. "Severus, Sirius, please head out. There is work to be done."

Snape cast one furious look at Harry, made as if to say something, but then simply nodded and headed for the hospital wing doors. Sirius patted Harry on the arm.

"I'll see you very soon, Harry," he said. "Take care of yourself." Then he, too, followed Snape out of the ward.

Dumbledore waited until they were gone, then said, "Very well then, Harry. Come with me, please. We need to go up to my office again."

"Albus!" Mrs. Weasley said, still in the same shocked and outraged tone she had used earlier. "Harry needs rest! He still has half of this dreamless sleep potion left to take! He needs—"

"This cannot wait, Molly," Dumbledore said, politely but firmly. "Time is of the essence."

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips, but did not object further. Dumbledore beckoned to Harry, and Harry followed him. Dumbledore was silent for the entire journey to the other side of the castle, to the gargoyle that concealed the entrance to Dumbledore's study, up the spiral staircase, and finally into the circular room that Harry had visited several times before. Dumbledore seated himself behind his desk, and motioned for Harry to sit down across from him. He cleared his throat.

"Well, Harry, now that you are a member of the Order of the Phoenix, it is time for you to receive certain…information."


	2. Chapter 2: The Prophecy

******Author's note: I don't own HP or the HP universe. JK Rowling does, and I am grateful to her for allowing me to play with the world she has so artfully crafted.******

 ******Author's note 2: This story obviously has sat dormant for over a year. It's been a crazy year involving me moving and switching jobs multiple times. I still have this story rattling around in my head, so I still have hopes for it. Should be more chapters to follow soon.******

Harry stared across the desk at Dumbledore, still trying to fully process the weight of the information he had just been given. The knowledge that he and his parents had been marked for death due to a prophecy wasn't altogether surprising. The fact, however, that _he_ was the only one with the power to end Voldemort—that it would have to be by his hand—was overwhelmingly terrifying. Harry felt as though an earthquake had rattled his psyche; wave after wave of frantic thoughts were rushing through his mind. _How am I supposed to kill Voldemort? My magic doesn't even come close to stacking up to his. Sure I escaped earlier tonight, but Voldemort was only toying with me. There's no way I'll get that lucky again._

Dumbledore was looking at Harry with a morose expression on his face. His voice was subdued as he began speaking again. "I'm very sorry to have to give you this information under circumstances like these, Harry. Perhaps I should have simply told you when you first asked me near the end of your first year at Hogwarts. However…" He let out a deep sigh. The lines in his face seemed more pronounced than ever. "I was hoping that Voldemort's return could be delayed. I was not entirely prepared for us to have so little time before we would have to resume the conflict."

"But you have a plan, right sir?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice level and not betray the raw flood of panic and shock he was still feeling.

"The beginnings of one, certainly," Dumbledore said. "But we are in a difficult and unadvantageous situation, Harry. If the Ministry refuses to acknowledge that Voldemort has returned, it will be next to impossible to properly put the wizarding public on their guard against him. We can only be so proactive without sticking our necks out too far. If Fudge thinks that we are attempting to fulminate chaos, we will find ourselves warring against both the power of Lord Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic. Needless to say, that would be a fight that we could not possibly win."

"But there are things that we can do, right?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "The most important thing to do right now is, as I said earlier in the hospital wing, to gather our forces. The Order of the Phoenix was very nearly eradicated by Voldemort and the Death Eaters during the first war. We must rebuild, and quickly. There will always be those who are predisposed to hear the truth, and we must find those people. But that is not what I wish to speak of at the moment, Harry."

Harry forced himself to rein in the thoughts galloping through his head, but at the same time looked up at Dumbledore with a desperate expression. _More bad news?_

"If I know Voldemort," Dumbledore said, "and I do know him—perhaps better than anyone—he will stop at nothing to hear this prophecy in full."

"In full?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Voldemort's informant who heard the prophecy and relayed the information to him only heard the first bit of it," continued Dumbledore. "He was only aware that there would be a boy with the power to destroy him, and the specifics of when and to whom that boy would be born. He was, and still is not, aware that he himself is responsible for why you possess that power—that by marking you, he was giving you the very tools necessary to destroy himself."

"But I don't have any tools—" Harry began. Dumbledore cut him off.

"Yes, you do, Harry," he said firmly. "I don't expect you to fully understand now what that means right now, but you not only have the ability to destroy Voldemort, you are uniquely capable of doing so. But listen to me, Harry. This is important. Voldemort will need to hear the prophecy. There is a surviving copy of the prophecy, but only one, and it will be impossible for Voldemort to access it—unless you help him. You see, the only people who can retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries are the people to whom the prophecy concerned itself—which means either Voldemort will need to enter the Ministry of Magic, or you will need to enter it for him."

"But why would I ever do that?"

"Voluntarily, of course you wouldn't," Dumbledore said. His gaze upon Harry changed now. It was less fiery, and more pensive—perhaps even sad. "I fear, however, that Voldemort may attempt to break into your mind. For some time now, I have thought that the scar you have is no mere physical remnant of the failed killing curse. It is a symbol of a very deep connection between you and Voldemort. I believe it may be deeper than any previous connection between two people. Your ability to access flashes and fragments of what Voldemort is doing, while helpful, is also, in a way, alarming. There may well come a time when Voldemort becomes aware of this ability you have to enter into his mind, and deduces that he could therefore enter yours. I fear what he might attempt to do if that happens, Harry."

"What could he do?" Harry asked, his heart starting to beat fast again.

"Any number of dreadful things. He could implant false memories. He could spy on you, or me, or the Order. He could, perhaps, even attempt to possess you. As I said, I believe that this type of connection is unique to you and Voldemort. The possibilities, therefore, are something that we can only guess at." Dumbledore rubbed his eyes. "Either way, the most vital course of action is for you to start immediately learning Occlumency. It is the ability to magically shield your mind and thoughts from external penetration."

"And that will keep Voldemort out?" Harry asked.

"I believe so," Dumbledore said. He seemed as if he was choosing his words carefully. "Voldemort is very astute at reading people's thoughts and emotions—Legilimency—perhaps the most accomplished the wizarding world has ever seen. But Occlumency is the best possible defense. Hopefully that, combined with the magical protections of the castle and your aunt and uncle's house, will provide enough of a shield. Just know this, Harry. There will never be a reason for you to go to the Department of Mysteries. It is imperative that you never go there. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry said. He didn't know why Dumbledore was warning him so severely. He had no inclination whatsoever to go anywhere near the Ministry of Magic right now, nor to wander into any kind of a trap.

"Good," Dumbledore said, and he stood up. Harry did as well. Dumbledore surveyed him once more, his eyes piercing again. "You remember, I trust, that you agreed to follow my instructions. Then listen carefully: I know you have…less than positive feelings towards Professor Snape, and I know that Professor Snape returns those feelings in full measure. I will instruct him to be professional in giving you these lessons, and I trust that he will. But regardless, Harry, you absolutely must put all of your considerable determination and willpower into learning Occlumency. If your mind is able to be penetrated by Voldemort, then you will be a liability to the Order, and we will not be able to trust you with any sensitive information. This is the most important thing that you need to concern yourself with. Am I being clear, Harry?"

Harry looked up at Dumbledore and knew that, as much as he would rather learn Occlumency from literally anyone else (including Gilderoy Lockhart), there was no use arguing. He nodded.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. He moved towards the door leading to the spiral staircase and motioned for Harry to follow him. "You will return to the Dursleys for approximately a week, and then you should be able to rejoin us. The Order should hopefully, by then, have headquarters."


	3. Chapter 3: Periwinkle Blue

******Author's note: I don't own HP or the HP universe. JK Rowling does, and I am grateful to her for allowing me to play with the world she has so artfully crafted.******

 _'Bye, Harry!' said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek._

 _'Harry - thanks,' George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side._

 _Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursleys' car._

 _As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come—and he would have to meet it when it did._

Whatever the Dursleys' past experiences of having their terrifying wizard of a nephew home for the summer holidays had been, this particular summer was remarkably…normal. No house elves showed up to ruin important business dinners. Nobody needed deflating after their fourth glass of brandy. There were no letters with too many stamps or deafening phone calls asking for Harry. Uncle Vernon didn't need to think about locking Harry in his bedroom and putting bars over the window again, because apart from meals, Harry never made any attempt to leave it.

There were several reasons for this. One being that the list of people Harry wanted to communicate with did not include any of the three Dursleys. Hedwig was therefore making mad dashes from Privet Drive to the Burrow, Hermione's house, and wherever Sirius was hiding, which was presumably much closer to Harry than he had been the previous summer. He worried about Hedwig making so many trips, but her indignant hoots every time Harry asked her if she needed rest were reassuring enough. Harry had even received a letter from Dumbledore confirming that his stay at Privet Drive would not last past a fortnight, at which point he would be relocated elsewhere (Dumbledore had not gone into specifics).

The second reason was that Harry could not stop obsessing over the prophecy. It occupied his thoughts so completely that he was often unable to give any thought even to Voldemort—where he might be hiding or what he might be planning. The more Harry thought about his conversation with the headmaster in the early morning hours after the third task, the more he realized that Dumbledore had—whether intentionally or not—left out several details. Who was the informant who had passed the information about the prophecy to Voldemort? What powers did he possibly possess that Voldemort did not have? And why, if he had been marked for such a dramatic showdown, had he not been prepared, trained for it? How could Dumbledore have let him sit through Lockhart's DADA lessons knowing his future included a fight with Voldemort, with the future of the wizarding world at stake?

This was a conversation he would be having with Dumbledore soon. Very soon. His surety and conviction about that did not surprise him. It was a feeling similar to the one that had come upon him suddenly in the hospital wing when he had boldly asked for his place in the Order. The desire to do something, anything, to bring down Voldemort had not faded away since that night. If anything, it had intensified. The graveyard seemed to have stripped away a layer of—naïvety? Delicacy? Harry didn't know quite what had gone, but he knew that the graveyard would forever be a turning point in his life, for better and for worse.

Speaking of the graveyard, the third and final reason Harry spent most of the time in his room was that he was barely sleeping. Nightmares came to him literally every single night. Sometimes they featured Cedric's dead body, sometimes Wormtail's ragged breath as he pierced Harry's arm, sometimes the overpowering smell of blood, smoke, and shouts as the figments of his parents disappeared and he ran for his life. Whatever the particulars of the vision, the constant was that Harry awoke sweating, panting, usually wrapped in his sheets as if they were a straitjacket. The strange glances his relatives had been shooting at him out of the corners of their eyes told him that he had probably been yelling in his sleep, maybe moaning or crying. Sometimes, if his parents featured strongly in a particular dream, his eyes would be wet when he woke up. Harry had therefore become almost nocturnal, sleeping off and on during the day when the nightmares were at least slightly less intense.

There were fleeting moments, however, where his mind did drift away from the graveyard and the prophecy, towards a memory of a certain girl with sleek, shiny hair wearing a periwinkle-blue dress. A girl who had happened to kiss him on the cheek as they said goodbye at King's Cross. A girl who he would, in fact, be seeing in less than a week. In one of her letters, Hermione had mentioned—without going into any details—that when Harry arrived at wherever he was going, she would already be there. Harry didn't quite know what to make of these new thoughts, for thinking of Hermione in _that_ way—even remotely in that way—was definitely something that had never happened before. He had been trying to imagine their reunion in a few days time. Would it be different than before? Awkward? Nervous? Or had Hermione even meant anything other than a chaste display of friendship? And even if she had meant…something more, how did he feel about that? He was a marked man, destined for a deadly showdown that he surely had very little chance of winning. Would it even be right to get close to someone in such a way if his lifespan would possibly be measured in months, not years?

As it turned out, Hermione's greeting upon Harry's arrival at headquarters was perfectly normal. A simple hug and hello was all there was time for before Harry was whisked off to the kitchen for the first Order meeting he would be present for.

The flight from Privet Drive to the Burrow had been uneventful, however thoroughly Mad-Eye had planned out the security precautions. Harry had wondered why flying was necessary, but he hadn't been on a broomstick for almost a month and had no complaints about getting to break out his Firebolt again. The Burrow remained the same as Harry had known it the previous summer, although the various trees and shrubs in the garden looked, if possible, even more wild and overgrown. It had been a mild shock to see his godfather, in great black dog form, roaming the garden and scanning the sky for arrivals, though realizing Sirius was there filled Harry with a warm glow of happiness. Upon entering the kitchen, however, that glow was quickly snuffed out when Harry saw his least favorite person in the world, Severus Snape. There were about fifteen people present, comprised of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Snape, Sirius, Lupin, Bill Weasley, a wizard with an earring and a deep, steady voice who Harry learned was named Kingsley Shacklebolt, two more wizards named Mundungus Fletcher and Sturgis Podmore, and three witches: Nymphadora Tonks, Emmeline Vance, and Hestia Jones. Dumbledore was not present, which both surprised and disappointed Harry—he had two weeks worth of questions and grievances that had been rattling around his head the whole time he was stuck at Privet Drive. It was a tight fit in the Weasleys' kitchen, although eventually everyone managed to find a chair.

The door was shut and magically locked, the shutters were drawn over the kitchen window, and candles were lit. Snape murmured an incantation under his breath, and Harry looked questioningly at Sirius.

"Checking for magical interference," Sirius muttered, looking at Snape. "All clear?"

Snape merely nodded, his contempt for Sirius evident across his pale face.

"Very well," Sirius said, shooting a nasty look of his own back at Snape. "As Dumbledore is not present tonight, Order rules dictate the most senior member should lead the meeting. I will therefore assume that role. Any objections?"

No one spoke, though Snape glowered again. Sirius ignored him.

"First order of business," he said, a slight edge to his voice, "is to bring Harry up to speed. A lot has happened in the past three weeks. Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley leaned forward, his bald patch reflecting the flicker of the candlelight. "Almost immediately after the third task, the Ministry began taking precautionary measures against Dumbledore. You saw Fudge's reaction, Harry. His position has not changed; in fact, he has only entrenched himself further into believing that you and Dumbledore are either willfully attempting to mislead the wizarding public into potential panic or that Dumbledore has been hoodwinked by your story and is acting recklessly, but without malice. Either way, the Ministry is determined to stamp out any rumor of Voldemort's return."

Harry, who had been taking the Daily Prophet at Privet Drive, nodded. Given the insults towards him and Dumbledore that the paper had been shoehorning in wherever possible, this piece of news was not a surprise.

"Fudge has also been very curious about your location and movements," Mr. Weasley continued. "The Ministry does not know the exact address of your aunt and uncle's house, for the matter of where to send you fell to Dumbledore after the death of your parents. The Ministry is only aware of the general location. Although we have recently acquired an actual headquarters, we felt it was better to bring you here first. The Ministry will be far less suspicious of you coming here, and it will therefore be easier to move to headquarters when it's time. It's also why you had to fly here. Any magical form of transportation associated with or regulated by the Ministry would have enabled them to determine the location of your relatives' house."

"Where is headquarters?" Harry asked.

"Central London," Sirius said. "My parents' old house. It's going to need a lot of work to make it habitable. Nobody's lived there in almost ten years. But it's not connected to anyone the Ministry might suspect of being in the Order, and it has every protective charm on it known to man, so Dumbledore thinks it will work well."

"The thing you must know, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, his voice now slightly sharper, "is that the Ministry will be looking for any excuse to bring in you or Dumbledore. They would love to be able to question you. So listen to me: you absolutely must not use magic, no matter what. Any hint of underage magic, and there will be Ministry officials knocking on our door. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Harry. The candle continued to flicker, casting shadows across the table.

"The two main priorities of the Order right now," Sirius said after a moment, "is to grow our own ranks by recruiting new members and to find out what Voldemort is planning and doing. Unfortunately, neither of those efforts are going particularly well. The Ministry's crackdown on the Order's message is making it difficult for us to convince others to take us seriously. We also have to be far more cautious in who we approach, particularly anyone within or connected to the Ministry. We can't afford to lose the contacts we do have in the Ministry, because Voldemort will definitely have his own."

There were slight shudders from most of the members present every time Sirius uttered Voldemort's name, but Sirius did not seem to particularly care.

"And what is Voldemort planning?" Harry asked. Lupin spoke up now.

"We're not entirely sure," he said, his voice soft but steady. "You see, after the night of the third task, Voldemort went underground. He knows Dumbledore will be aware of his return, even if the Ministry doesn't believe it, and he knows Dumbledore will have recalled the Order. To our best knowledge, Voldemort seems to put whatever plans he had or has on hold. We've been tailing known Death Eaters and possible supporters, and none have engaged in any suspicious activity. Obviously, however, we can't see everything. To that end, our best source of information has been Severus, who has retaken his place among the Death Eaters as a spy."

Harry looked at Snape now, not with displeasure as was usually the case, but with curiosity. He had long known Snape's history as a former Death Eater turned spy. He knew that Dumbledore, while trusting him, had never given him the DADA job for fear of Snape being too close to the Dark Arts. He had wondered, several times, whether Snape's regret and remorse was genuine, and whose side he was really on. Perhaps his suspicion had shown on his face, for Snape's look of disdain towards Harry had sharpened into antipathy. His lip was curled.

"I believe Potter doubts my true allegiance," he said softly, looking down the table at Sirius now. "This is partially your doing, Black. The fifteen-year-old we are, for whatever foolish reasons, trusting our secrets and our lives with has doubts about my own trustworthiness. What say you to that?"

Sirius looked from Snape to Harry, then back to Snape. He seemed to choose his words carefully. "I don't believe Harry has expressed any doubt about your loyalty, Severus. As far as I'm concerned, Dumbledore trusts you, and as we all trust Dumbledore, that finalizes the matter."

Snape sneered, but looked away from Sirius now, addressing the group at large. "I do not have much new information to report. The Dark Lord is still keeping me firmly at arm's length. I believe that he does not yet trust me again, nor do many of the senior Death Eaters. It is therefore difficult for me to ascertain what the Dark Lord's ultimate aims are, as he is very good at compartmentalizing his orders so that very few of his followers get the complete picture of his plans. As best I can tell, the Dark Lord's current goals are similar to ours: to attract more followers and to find out what the other side is doing. To that end, I have been ordered to continue spying on the Order so as to provide as much information as I can."

Sirius had not taken his eyes off Snape the entire time Snape had been speaking. "I can't help but notice, Severus," he said, his voice again very measured, "that this report is almost identical to the one that you gave about two weeks ago. Are you telling us that you have made no inroads into Voldemort's inner circle?" He had hid his skepticism in his earlier affirmation of Snape, but it now leaked through into every word.

Snape's eyes flashed. "The Dark Lord does not trust easily, Black," he said, anger evident in his voice. "I know for a fact that Dumbledore is satisfied with the information I've provided. If you have concerns, perhaps you should take them up with him."

The two men stared at each other, though neither said anything further. Lupin cleared his throat. "I think that settles Snape's report. Does anyone else have anything to bring up?"

The rest of the meeting passed quickly, for no one had any major information to report. Within five minutes, Sirius had called an end to the meeting and most of the room was dispersing, ready to leave.

"Harry," Arthur muttered, motioning to him. "A moment."

Harry finished shaking hands with Tonks and Lupin, who left the kitchen and exited through the front door of the Burrow. He made his way over to Mr. Weasley. It was now only the two of them and Sirius in the kitchen, as Mrs. Weasley had gone to see off the disapparating Order members.

"Ron and Hermione are upstairs," Mr. Weasley told him. "They're probably still awake. But Harry, I need to make it clear: information that is discussed in meetings does not leave the room. You cannot share Order business with people outside the Order, even if we know they are trustworthy. Do you understand what I'm saying, Harry?"

Harry looked at him, his stomach suddenly dropping slightly. Of course if he had thought about it at any length, he would have realized that he wouldn't be able to tell Ron or Hermione anything. But he hadn't. The three of them had never kept secrets from each other, except for maybe if one wasn't speaking to the other two. How would they take it when he told them he was sworn to secrecy, even after everything they had been through together?

"You took an oath, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, his voice quiet but firm. "You swore to follow Dumbledore's orders. This comes from him."

Harry nodded, resigned. "I won't say anything."

Sirius let out a slight chuckle. "They'll already know quite a bit, mind. Fred and George have invented these strange string things that lets them listen in on people from a distance. We've had to start putting charms on the kitchen to keep them out, although they probably got quite a bit of use out of them before we caught on."

"Even still," Mr. Weasley said, sighing slightly. "We can't take any chances. The stakes are too high. Goodnight, both of you."

Harry and Sirius bade Mr. Weasley goodnight and, after a moment, climbed the stairs themselves. Sirius was sleeping in the attic. On the fifth floor landing, Harry saw that the door to Ron's room was ajar and a flame was lit inside it, indicating that Ron at least was still awake. Sirius opened the hatch in the ceiling and climbed up, and Harry, feeling unusually nervous, pushed open Ron's bedroom door.


End file.
